


Three's A Crowd

by Leaveitbrii



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Moving On, misuse of high school musical lyrics, that fix it fic that isn't really a fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:00:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9790940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaveitbrii/pseuds/Leaveitbrii
Summary: You've got two hands for a reason, dismemberment and hand holding. Oh, that's two reasons.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [banhmi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/banhmi/gifts).



> this isn't v heavy at all, I just wanted to write something for someone who is amazing and awesome and I'm going to punch them in the face
> 
> warning: animal death, blood, things that go with dead things

chris

He’s barely twenty and Chris can already check off attending funerals from his list because he’s been to two, one an empty casket because Mike’s mom preferred it and Chris had stared at it’s hollow space much like he did that night when Mike met his eyes, a smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth, thumb flicking over his lighter and it figures Michael Munroe would go out in flames but that didn’t make any of this any better.

Matt’s mom didn’t cry but his sister and so did Emily, which seemed worse than the Monroe family’s open sobbing. Jess had brought Matt’s old letterman jacket and gave it to his mother, her final token, a thank you.

The media didn’t know that, no one did really except Ashley, Emily, Sam and him, there was no joint collection of muted horror when the world found out the Washington lodge went up in flames but newspapers still spread sheets of lies that read Prank Gone Wrong: Washington’s Lose Last Child to Bad Influences and Friends, which in itself was insulting because none of it mentioned how their group of eight, once ten, was cut down to five.

It was stupid. It was fucking bullshit.

So Chris stays inside, ignoring the fact that Ashley hates him, that Jess has memory loss and that her only recollection of the mountain is grayscale and screaming and Mike, Mike, Mike. He tried to feel something beyond icky numbness, fought urges to burn up every photograph of them all together, of him and Josh, him and Ashley and they say New Years comes with new resolutions but Chris just wants to empty his stomach into the toilet every night because who cares about eating when you can drink, drink, drink.

Can’t call it a pity party if it’s a group of one and when Sam shows up at his door the day Chris decides to see how many bottles of Hennessy can put him in the hospital, Chris could only call fate and maybe perfect timing, maybe if he hadn’t closed off the world, Sam wouldn’t be here now, maybe if he had kept in contact with everyone, he would be dead.

“You know he’s back, right?”

“Who?” Chris cradles his head in his hands, Sam’s voice too loud and clear and it knocks around a bit before settling right against his temple where it sits and throbs like an open wound. A water bottle gets pushed into his hand and Chris struggles to twist off the cap, colors spotting his vision from where he’s stared too hard.

“Josh.”

Chris forces himself to look at her, Sam stares back, shoulders slouched, defeated, wrapped up in a flannel that’s too big, hides the shorts she’s wearing and Chris slumps back in his recliner, mouth falling open, clicking closed, falling open and it repeats and repeats until his headache bursts into a swell of anger.

“What?”

Sam regards him closely, understanding in her face along with something else that feels a lot like judgement, like some bitter pill she wants him to swallow and it pisses him off. Chris straightens, squeezing the water bottle in his hand and he wants to ask how she knows, how she could’ve fucking known before he did and Sam levels him with an unimpressed look.

“Maybe you should answer your phone more often.” Sam tells him and Chris tells her to go fuck herself.

“How long are you going to stay boarded up in here?” Sam snaps, the edges of her jaw hard and uneven and she springs to her feet, composure lost, the blonde hair tucked behind her ear falling loose and wild. “You’re not the only one who went through this, why do you keep acting like you are?!”

Chris has never heard Sam yell, barely has heard a raised voice over the years he’s known her and it startles him, boils an age old anger that simmers in his stomach and soon Chris is on his feet, towering over her with twisted line in his mouth, a snarl pressed against his teeth because he wants her to fuck off, to leave him alone and if he wants to wallow, let him.

“It still happened, Sam!” Chris shouts, brow furrowed and hard and his face feels distorted and full. “I don’t care if he made it. I don’t fucking care!”

“It’s not his fault.” Sam tries, visibly deflating like she’s had this conversation before, like she’s trying to convince herself and Chris barks out a laugh, it tastes sour in his mouth, bubbles around like every vicious cycle of memories that come colliding into him like a brick.

Sam lifts her hands, not in surrender, its dismissive and empty like she doesn’t really care what Chris has to say, determination buzzing through her tiny body, resolved settled in her face and she looks at him.

“I just came here to tell you.” Sam informs him, grasping her purse from where it sits on the floor beside the ottoman. “As a courtesy. I don’t care what you do, Chris, but I’m not going to leave him alone.”

Chris wants to argue with her but Sam is already heading towards his front door, spine erect into a hard line and Chris watches her go, hears the door slam closed behind her and he stares into the heavy silence she’s left him in.

His skin feels too hot, too tight and Chris roughly yanks off his sweater, throwing it at the wall with an unsatisfying thunk. He breathes harshly through his nose, fingers pulling at his hair as he tries to think, to breathe but it’s getting harder and harder.

Sam is waiting beside her jeep, one leg crossed over the other, a pair of sunglasses pushed back and she doesn’t smile when Chris comes stumbling out of his apartment, simply acknowledges it with a quiet nod and moves around to climb in the driver’s seat.

Chris begrudgingly takes the passenger.

 

sam

Josh’s parents got him apartment near the ocean, far from the city, far from them because his new therapist suggested it. They only gave the address to Sam, then to Chris when he asked but he if shows, it’s not when she’s there and Sam has thought about asking Josh if he talks to Chris more, if he spends late nights with Chris on the other line coaxing him through panic attacks.

Sam wants to ask but she doesn’t, takes Josh’s crooked, small smiles, the way he falls asleep too often on her shoulder, a blanket curled around them as reruns of Chopped flicker on the television screen. He doesn’t hide behind a surgical mask anymore as long as Sam doesn’t focus on the long, gnarled scar that curves along his face.

“I talked to Emily today.” Josh tells her. They’re both sitting in a blanket fort Sam decided to make, the blinds shut tightly against the sun because it was bothering Josh’s eyes. Their knees touch, the light from the TV fans over his face, shirt falling off his shoulder, eyes bruised and sunken in and from this angle he looks the same, looks like the same boy she’s grown up with and when Josh turns to her, that image is gone, replaced by a darker reality.

“How’d it go?” Sam asks quietly. She knows he had been toying with the idea of reaching out to the others, the ones that are left.

Josh shrugs, adjusts his shirt and folds his arms over his stomach, torso tilted forward and he stares up at the TV, unwatching. “It went.”

“Do you…Do you want to talk about it?” Sam presses, slowly inching towards him. She places a timid hand on his arm and Josh doesn’t recoil like she thought he would, like he did the first time she tried to touch him.

“She was really mad.” Josh tells her, glancing down at Sam’s hand. “Really, really mad. I can’t blame her and I thought she’d hang up on me but..she didn’t. Jess was with her. She wanted to talk to me.”

“She doesn’t remember the mountain.” Sam says and Josh nods, lips twitching into an unamused smile.

“The only reason she doesn’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

Josh looks at her, resigned, weak, eyes so dark and empty and he nods, jaw slacking into something softer, warmer and Sam presses her thumb into the crook of his elbow.

“You should.” Josh says softly.

Sam smiles a bit, feels it waiver and wobble and Josh chuckles, raspy, empty and looks back to the TV. Sam leans against his shoulder, tucking her head along the bone, feels the way Josh stiffens and pauses before slouching.

Sam isn’t sure how long they stay like that but she falls asleep somewhere between the second episode of New Girl and wakes up sometime in the evening to Netflix asking if they’re still watching and Josh curled up against her on the floor, his face pressed into her arm.

Sam rolls onto her side, wraps an arm around him and places her chin on his head. Josh releases a noise, something akin to a sigh and then his throat clicks, a low purr filling the air. Sam bites a smile into her knuckle and lets the sound lull her back to sleep.

 

josh

The only times Chris visits is when Sam leaves. It seems suspiciously planned because every time Sam wouldn’t say why she was leaving, just gathered her purse and said she’d be back, leaving behind a knapsack full of clothes and a sticky note on the fridge that has tiny hearts drawn on it.

Being around Sam is easier than being around Chris because at least Josh knows that she doesn’t hate him as much as she could, she said so, but Chris hadn’t said anything, hadn’t mentioned the mountain even when Josh calls him too early in the morning and the amount of silence that stands between them is painful.

The elephant in the room is dying and Josh keeps wondering if Chris will let it wither.

“How many episodes of this show are there?” Chris asks, frowning when the opening credits to Grey’s Anatomy aren’t automatically skipped. He fumbles for the controller, accidentally knocking it to the floor with a noisy clatter.

Chris groans.

Josh chuckles, watching in amusement as the episode is sped through by the trigger button being mashed on the controller. He runs a hand through his hair, reaching down to swipe the controller up from the floor. Josh reselects the episode they were on and sets the controller between them, catching Chris’ eye, how hard his stare is before it tapers away, back to the TV.

Josh swallows thickly, tries to focus on Grey’s Anatomy but he feels the weight of Chris’ stare on him, how it burns and sizzles along his spine and makes his insides twists and he wants to bring it up, put everything out in the open, figure out if Chris hates him or not.

He doesn’t want Chris to though. Or Sam but Sam said she didn’t. She wouldn’t lie, she wouldn’t do-

There are hands on his shoulders, his upper arms, muffled words bouncing around his head as he dully stares ahead, mouth thinning into a line and he can feel its urge to drip off his face, to fall to the floor in a flurry of harsh splats like every dying word he’s wanted to say to them for the past year.

Chris doesn’t say anything, his expression riddled with painful understanding and Josh stares into it, absently clutching at his knees, waiting for the moment to pass but it doesn’t, it stays and lingers and Chris’ face softens.

Josh looks away.

“I’ll go.” Chris tells him, lightly squeezing Josh’s shoulders and that’s not what Josh wants, it’s not even close.

Chris straightens to his feet, sneakers shuffling along the hardwood as he moves towards the entrance way, the fabric of his jacket rustling noisily and Josh wheezes out a breath, eyes burning and he looks to Chris, bones shaking beneath his skin.

“No.”

Chris turns to him, one arm partially inside his coat, the other clutching the sleeve and Josh can’t read his expression, those familiar blue eyes seeming so dark, so dull and impatient. “What?”

“Will… Just stay, man.” Josh tells him, voice shrill and shaky.

Chris glances at the front door, Josh unable to read his face but he sees when Chris has decided, pinched tight shoulders relaxing with a quiet sigh and Josh watches Chris hang his coat back up.

 

chris

Chris had figured it’d be a matter of time when this cookie cutter image Sam painted would burn up and die, mostly because he’s become more cynical, could be the constant excuses he looks for so he doesn’t have to deal with any of it, where he could go back to his old life, sitting in his recliner, nursing 1 beer, 2 beers, 3, until the walls run together in one unified slab.

He’s been waiting for it but it went a little more like Sam snapping, not what they find once they decide to drop by Josh’s apartment together. Chris wonders if it’s because they hadn’t told Josh they were coming or if timing was off or if there’s some fucked up god in the universe that thinks it’s funny to see Josh Washington covered in blood and fur.

Josh doesn’t look up at them, body painfully still, frozen, fingernails caked with blood and skin. A thick roll of red drool hang off his lip, face smeared dark and nasty, hair greasy with dirt from where Josh must’ve run his hands through it.

Sam doesn’t speak. Chris doesn’t either, both staring too long and too hard until Josh slowly cranes his head to look at them, eyes discolored, distant and Chris recoils, clutching at the door frame to the house as he fights every urge to run, Josh staring at him with wide eyes.

There’s a stag lying in the center of Josh’s living room, long dead, eyes empty and glassy, stomach pried open around broken ribs and ripped up flesh. Chris half expects it to move, for Sam to throw up her hands and shout “surprise! Fucked up right?”. She doesn’t, only stares in horrified silence.

Josh looks back to the stag. “I was hungry.”

Chris’ stomach lurches, sour and distracting. The question remained was where did it come from but if Chris was being honest, he didn’t particularly care about such a minor detail, no, not he can see his reflection in a pair of dead eyes.

Sam moves first, dropping a bag of groceries from her hand, voice low and soothing Josh’s gaze flickers to her, throat clicking softly. Sam kneels down in front of him, frames his face in her hands and Chris swallows down a ball of vomit when the smell hits him.

Chris isn’t much help after that but he calls the Washington’s, who say a crew of cleaners will be by later, and stands outside Josh’s bathroom while he hears Sam muffled talk drown under the sound of running water.

The shower cuts on, Sam exits the room, her skin red, expression tired but relieved and Chris doesn’t know how she does it.

“I can’t do this, Sam.” Chris murmurs lowly, folded into himself with a pained expression and Sam doesn’t say anything, the low sounds of Josh moving about in the shower, floor groaning lowly under the constant shifting weight.

Chris wonders if Josh is pacing like he used to in high school, arms squeezed close to his frame, eyes sinking to the back of his head as his jaw locks to one side as if it could keep back whatever barrel of vomit that threatens to burst forward.

“I already told you,” Sam starts, her voice steely. “You don’t have to stay.”

But he wants to, just doesn’t know how to deal with this, with Josh, this new perspective that isn’t some poised paper copy like the one Josh had been feeding them after Beth and Hannah went missing, this was something more real, more horrifying, too close to the mountain.

Chris roughly runs a hand across his face, knocking his glasses to the floor with a panicked hitch, mind rolling through an endless void of white snow and dusty trees until Sam places her hands on his shoulder, his face, whispers at him to breathe, to listen, steady.

“He’s getting better, Chris.” Sam reminds him, her fingers cool on his skin. “Minor setback, Chris. Minor setback.”

Chris nods before he can stop himself and Sam smiles, too kind, too gentle.

A minor setback.

 

sam

“So..what’s going on with you and Chris?”

Sam pauses, one hand curled around a container of spinach, the other precariously balancing bananas and a stack of movies that might be bootlegs of Sharknado 1 & 2 or The Adventures of Elmo in Grouchland, she isn’t sure.

Emily’s sitting on Sam’s kitchen counter, idly flipping through a magazine, eyes sliding up to meet Sam’s. She quirks an eyebrow, Sam almost chokes on her own spit.

“Nothing.”

Emily closes her magazine, nose wrinkling and she tilts forward, “Right.”

“Nothing’s happening. We’re just helping out Josh.” Sam tells her, setting the spinach on the counter, then the bananas and movies, glaring weakly at them. She wasn’t sure where Emily was coming from and it’s not the first conversation she’s had like this, one with her mom, another with Ashley that bordered something accusing and sick.

“Mhm. Speaking of Josh,” Emily presses, studying her nails, a smirk curling onto her lips. “What’s going on with that?”

“Nothing!” Sam tells her, Emily snorting out an amused chuckle that leaves Sam’s face feeling hot. “Em, nothing is going on.”

Emily shrugs, dismissive. “Just seems like something is.”

“We just got him back. We’re all healing. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.” Sam huffs, curling her fists along the countertop. She slowly releases them, lets her fingers splay along the surface and swallows. Her cuticles look dry, nails plain and weak and Emily’s heels click to the floor when she slides down from her seat.

“I’m heading out.” Emily informs her and Sam turns. “I have to take Jess to physical therapy.”

Sam can’t even remember why Emily dropped by to begin with. She nods, slowly, suspiciously waiting for Emily to bring up more nonsense. Emily doesn’t, just sends her a pointed look and it feels about the same.

“I’ve known you long enough to be able to tell when you’re bullshitting, Sam.” Emily shoulders her tote bag, running manicured nails along the leather. “I did the same thing.”

“Em, it’s not..” Sam deflated, unsure of what to say and it could be that she just doesn’t have anything to argue.

Emily smirks. “It is. It’s not that difficult, Sam. See you.”

Sam listens to her go, hears the dull thud that follows once the front door falls shut. The silence follows her to her jeep, along the drive to Josh’s apartment, cars parting against a setting sun, bright like beetles, dark and black.

Chris is propped up on the arm of couch when Sam arrives, knuckling sleep from his eyes as he sits up, glasses folded into his button up and Sam finds herself smirking at him, holding up two bags of groceries.

“I have Sharknado but it might be something else. Who knows?” Sam shrugs, looking around the room. “Where’s Josh?”

Chris blinks tiredly, smacking his lips a bit and gestures to his lap, shifting a bit and that’s when Sam hears the familiar sound of Josh’s low chirp then silence.

“Asleep.” Chris croaks out, gesturing to the empty spot across from him. “He’s been out for an hour. Or two. Maybe…three? Sam, I don’t know. What time is it?”

“Almost six.” Sam tells him, heading into the living room. She sees Josh curled up on Chris’ lap, haphazardly wedged between Chris and the couch, drool trickling down his chin.

“Need any help?” Chris asks, watching Sam walk towards the kitchen. He yawns and Sam studies him for a moment, takes in the way he slouches down in his seat, shuffling Josh into something that seems more comfortable but they both look like idiots.

Josh makes a noise.

Chris gives Sam an expected look, waiting for her answer.

“I’m good.” Sam tells him, fighting back a smile.

 

josh

There’s a sticky note with Sam’s handwriting on the microwave. It says ‘J, Leftovers in fridge’ which is funny if Josh doesn’t think about how the only reason that note is there is because that’s where he kept parts of a half eaten crow during those first transition months.

Sam said it wasn’t his fault, he was hungry and Chris readily agreed with her, said it was okay and that they’ll do better, Josh will do better. Josh doesn’t hunt at dawn anymore like he did on the mountain, doesn’t lurk in bushes for something that sprints by, no, but he still had urges, ticks, and Sam compared it to cats chattering at birds through windows.

It didn’t make it better.

Nothing was better and maybe that’s what the problem is, what Josh’s problem is because the only people who still talk to him keep trying to pretend that he wasn’t a monster, isn’t a monster now, that the mountain didn’t happen and that their friends aren’t dead because of him.

“Have you been watching Chopped all day?” Chris’ voice startles him, Josh haphazardly stretched out on the couch, nibbling through twizzlers because it makes his jaw sore. Josh cranes his head to look up, Chris peering down at him with a goofy smile that makes Josh’s pulse stutter.

“Yeah.” Josh responds easily, forcing himself to sit up. His stomach rumbles irritably. Josh swallows hard. “Trying to get some inspiration.”

“Thought Sam said we weren’t allowed in the kitchen anymore.” Chris moves to sit in the space Josh was stretched out in, sighing loudly as he sinks into the seat, arm moving to curl around Josh’s torso.

“’s not the first time Sam has said we can’t do something.” Josh quips, slumping back against Chris. “I’m glad she’s here. I’m glad…both of you are.”

Chris makes a noise, tired but present, fingers lightly tapping along Josh’s side as he fidgets. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Josh hums quietly.

Josh focuses on the TV screen, two contestants staring at a panel of judges waiting to see who will be sent home. Chris’ hand is warm on his side, fingers round and pale and Josh lightly touches them. “I want to get her a bird house.”

“And a bag of bird seeds.” Chris mumbles, inhales then chuckles to himself. “Giant bags of bird seeds.”

Josh shifts, turning to face Chris, who is still laughing. Their eyes meet for a moment, Chris’ smile simmering away into something softer. Josh glances down at his lap, pulls at the worn fabric of his sweatpants and Chris sits up, leaning in to press his mouth to the corner of Josh’s right eye.

Josh inhales slowly, nerves buzzing as Chris nudges him, coaxing out a heavy sigh when Chris’ hands run along his thighs.

“You okay?”

Josh nods. “Yep.”

“Bro.”

“Dude.”

Chris huffs and Josh snorts, smiling a bit, transfixed by the way Chris’ mouth moves as he tries not to push. It’s a physical pause, stilled words curled inside a trembling jaw and Josh grabs Chris’ hand.

“’m serious, bro.” Josh tells him. “Everything is alright.”

Josh doesn’t tell him that everything feels too good, too nice and perfect because it doesn’t feel right to say out loud or to say at all. The sound of the front door closing settles in the air, Chris conceding with a pissy expression that makes Josh laugh. It earns him a weak glare and Chris lightly punching his shoulder.

“Again! I’m never invited to the couch party.” Sam says, pouting slightly, hands tucked underneath the straps of her book bag.

“That sounds gay, Sam.” Josh tells her and Chris nods his head.

“Very gay indeed, bro.”

They fist bump and Sam rolls her eyes, lips twitching into a fond smile. She slides out of her book bag, setting it near the entrance to the living room and shuffles towards them, ignoring their dramatic groans when she squeezes between them, Sam’s shoulders wedged into Josh’s chest, her legs draped over Chris’ knees and she sighs loudly, grinning.

“Can’t believe you didn’t take off your shoes, Sam.” Chris bitches, flicking a freckle on Sam’s knee.

“Very unladylike, Sammy.” Josh chastises, fumbling to get his hand out from where Sam has pinned it to the couch. He nearly sways Chris in the face causing the other’s glasses to fall crooked to one side and Chris’ eyes go wide.

“Bro.” Chris squawks.

Sam bursts into a fit of giggles.

 

+1

Josh has come to realize that there are different ways to watching people, specifically people you know, and it could be that he’s just never looked at Sam or Chris for very long or doesn’t remember doing so before, which isn’t surprising, but it’s nearly 3am and Chris is on his stomach, one arm tucked up underneath his pillow, the other bent at a weird angle.

Sam is tucked behind him, her hair falling out of the band she wore to sleep, nose buried in the top of Chris’ pillow, body folded into a strange 'z’ shape. There is a space between them, tiny, small like a child might’ve laid there.

Josh stares at the empty space, mind cloudy, hands folded in his lap, studying slopes of grey and black, how they curl over Sam’s face or frame the contours in Chris’ back. It reminds Josh of the mountain, how the earth became plots of seedy dark and the moon barely held any comfort, just stretching its massive white light as if it could blot out the dark and every dark thing it would hide.

Sam shifts, murmuring sleepily and her hand moves along the empty space between her and Chris and she nuzzles forward, into that cold, blank spot. Josh watches the way she stiffens, expression scrunched as her eyes twist and tighten against sleep.

Josh watches the way Sam lifts her head, barely awake, mouth dropping open with a quiet smack and she pats the spot once, then twice, alarm surging through her small body like a snapped twig and Josh tenses when Sam shoots up, elbow digging into her pillow as she drags it underneath her, eyes panicked and wide as she opens them.

“Jo-” Sam notices him, relief flooding along her features like wave and her shoulders drop, tension worrying it’s way into her face as she stares at him, confused and nervous. Her expression doesn’t match how steady her voice is. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Josh tells her. “Sorry.”

“No, no. It’s okay.” Sam breathes, moving to sit up, hair tumbling loose in a flurry of stretched tangles and she pushes her bangs back, blinking away remnants of sleep. She doesn’t check her phone for the time like Josh thought she would and she doesn’t say anything or ask why Josh is up, why he’s staring, just regards him quietly.

Sam blinks. “You okay?”

Josh nods, feeling pathetic and small and the room feels a lot more compact when there’s no light to remind him of where the walls. His left eye blurs, fuzzy and grey and Sam places a hand over his trembling ones, shadows dipping along her face and the corner of her mouth twitches upward, lashes seeming dark and she squeezes his hand.

Josh isn’t sure what to say so he says nothing, listening to the way Sam breathes, the way Chris rolls onto his side, a snore pressing into the air and Josh doesn’t think he’s deserved such an easy transition back, not that it was but that was only because of him, how he is, what he is.

“Josh,” Sam shifts closer, edges of her knees knocking into his and Chris breathes.

Stop, Josh almost says and the word sits between his ribs and aches and he bristles, alarm riddled along his spine, how he wishes he could come up with something that felt like an apology, a make up, a please, please don’t leave.

Sam squeezes his hand again. “He’s not going anywhere. Neither am I. We’re all in this together. Once we know that we are, we’re all stars and we see that.”

“Oh my god.” Josh chokes. “Sammy, no.”

Sam grins broadly. “We’re all in this together and it shows when we stand, hand in hand, make our dreams come truuuuue.”

“Sammy, no!” Josh’s face splits into a smile, eyes beading up with hot tears as Sam laughs, beautiful and warm and she tilts forward, her mouth meeting his and Josh clutches her hand, fighting back the urge to move away, the scar in his face aching in reminder.

Sam eases back, pressing their foreheads together and she runs her hand along the side of Josh’s face, thumb tracing the gnarled scar that rests there and Josh can feel the way his body wants to lurch away, go run, hide and Sam sighs, smile so soft, so perfect.

“Please don’t run away from me. From us.” Sam whispers, voice kind and understanding. “I love you, Josh. Chris loves you.”

“Okay.” Josh replies, skin prickly and hot, the warmth behind his eyes threatening to burst and he squeezes them closed, breathing harshly through his nose because he didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve any of it.

The sheets move beneath them, a deep rumble of Chris’ croaky voice filtering through the air but Josh has no idea what he’s said, only feels the scratchy fabric of Chris’ tee brush against his side, a new hand folded over his, calloused and thick.

“Sam try to sing high school musical again?” Chris asks, rough and so, so tired and Josh practically hears Sam’s glare and a laugh bubbles it’s way through his throat, tumbling out like a dying noise. His cheeks are warm and wet, teeth clenched tightly as he tries not to grind them together.

“You made him cry with your horrible singing, Samantha.”

“He’s crying because you snore like a bull, Christopher.”

Chris scoffs loudly and Josh barks out a laugh, bringing his hands up to his face and Sam wraps her arms around him, Chris stretching over them, solid and firm and Josh can’t tell if his shoulders are shaking or if that’s just Josh being a mess.

“I’m sorry.” Josh whimpers, biting back a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Josh.” Sam tells him, mouth close to his ear.

“The only person who should be sorry is Sam.” Chris mutters, nosing Josh’s temple. “I could hear that song in my dreams.”

“It’s a classic.” Sam defends weakly. “You’re the one who showed us.”

“On the pretense that we wouldn’t be listening to you sing it six years later.” Chris deadpans and a wet laugh bubbles its way out of Josh’s mouth, Sam scoffing indignantly and muttering something about traitor and how much she hates both of them.

“I’m moving the cuddle pile to the bed. As in horizontally. On the bed.” Chris informs them, brief and dismissive and Josh is jostled onto his side, the familiar press of his pillow settling along his face, Sam buried in the crook of his neck, her arm loosely draped across his side and Chris yawns widely, hooded eyes blinking slowly as he presses closer, pushing Josh’s hair back with his hand. He wipes at the underside of Josh’s eyes with his thumb, smiling a bit before he reaches down to run his hand along Sam’s arm.

“We’re all in this together.” Sam hums, sleepy and slow.

“Go to fucking bed, Sam.” Chris chuckles and Josh feels Sam nod sluggishly against him. Chris drags his eyes up to meet Josh’s and he moves closer, presses into Josh’s space, noses brushing and Chris sighs. “You okay?”

Josh nods. “Yeah, Cochise. You know me, just…brimming with emotions all the time.”

It’s a weak joke and Chris looks ready to ask what about, expression turning dark and worried and Josh shakes his head, reaching up to grasp Chris’ neck, thumb running along the other’s bottom lip.

Chris sighs again. “Ok.”

“Sam is drooling on my shoulder.”

“Yeah,” Chris snorts, smiling a bit. “She does that.”

Chris adjusts, tucking Josh under his chin as he squishes them all together, Sam huffing and Josh breathes in deep, clutching at Chris’ shirt, sniffing softly, chest vibrating noisily with a low purr as Chris still against him.

“I love you.” Chris says, barely above a whisper, too low to have actually been heard and Josh waits until he hears Chris’ breathing even out before he tries to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> No stags were harmed in the making of this film


End file.
